The Killing Queens Read online

  THE KILLING QUEENS

  Book 1

  THE KILLING QUEENS

  Book 1

  L.E. Boyd Publishing

  THE STRONGEST SURVIVOR BOOK 1

  Copyright ©2019 by L.E. Boyd

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of the book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7177-7463-7

  Cover Illustration by germancreative © 2019

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  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1: Welcome

  Chapter 2: The Lesson

  Chapter 3: The Briefing

  Chapter 4: The Farm

  Chapter 5: The Meeting

  Chapter 6: The Play

  Chapter 7: The Pentagon

  Chapter 8: The Assignments

  Chapter 9:The Change

  Chapter 10:The Trap

  Chapter 11: The Score

  Chapter 12: The Memories

  Chapter 13: The Problem

  Chapter 14: The Reforms

  Chapter 15: The Ceremonies

  Chapter 16: The Reflections

  Chapter 17: The Empire

  Chapter 18: The Mission

  Chapter 19: The Error

  Chapter 20: The Darkness

  Author Biography

  Chapter 1: Welcome

  Ellis Island is the finish line of a long journey for disenchanted souls. Persecuted, rejected and tossed aside as the unmentionables, these are the immigrants, distraught and forgotten. They walk immigration purgatory at the feet of Lady Liberty. Shivering souls surrounded by the piercing lights of uniformed officials; they are glanced over and separated by gender.

  Women are led upstairs and the men are walked downstairs to the place of the unseen. A young female’s eyes scanned the mint green room with rows and rows of chairs. An air of uncertainty enveloped the group. The long lines seemed to stretch on forever, or maybe a noose around their neck. The group of women are asked to “find a chair.” A film projector turns on, and the crackles of the film are only muffled by nervous curiosity.

  “Welcome to the New United States. While it is still the land of the free and the home of the brave, we have made a few changes to make it more female friendly.

  As many of you are aware from your exam to become citizens, the United States of America was born on July 4, 1776, however, the New United States of America was born on July 4, 2050.

  “Before this day, the world lived under the hand of patriarchy. Men ruled over all domains, from the land to the sea. However, history was built upon the backs of the unwritten stories of women throughout the generations. Yet, this chasm between the sexes stood undaunted. This led to systematic oppression. The wombs that cultivated the next generation were marginalized. Unable to vote, serving in the military disguised as men, unequal pay, and footnoting everything with ‘Me Too,’ the backbone of the American family grew weary. But, after the darkest days the Stepford Sanctum became law, a new reign began. Thus, the present era was born and WE are that era.”

  Chapter 2: The Lesson

  Protestors waited outside the gates of the new White House. Women from all over the country were shouting and chanting, “Free Our Men! Free Our Men!” All religions and races were wrapped in thick coats and gloves to fight the cold.

  Inside those hallowed halls, the press applied pressure to one of the faces of the administration, searching for answers.

  “Madame Press Secretary! Madame Press Secretary! What can you tell us about the camps?”

  “When will the men be returned home?”

  “How are you going stop the protests?”

  “What about the food shortages?”

  The James S. Brady Press Briefing Room in the West Wing was swarming with reporters. Hungry for answers from the Kearney administration, a sea of people scrutinized. The room was a dark shade of navy blue with silver framed and blue clothed chairs that all faced a podium which read The White House with the subtitle Washington beneath.

  It was the same as it had always been. Since the first presidential conference was held on March 15th, 1913, ruling powers had all been the same. Distraction and division were the true opiate of the masses. The haves implement and enforce laws to control and tax the have-nots. Distraction and materialism quell upheaval. But, this time there were two differences. First, there were more phones than pads of paper, and second, there were no men in the room.

  “Settle down, settle down,” a woman brustled from behind the podium. She was a petite, dark skinned woman who had collar-length black hair pulled into a bun. Despite her small stature and frame, she stood tall in front of the reporters as she used her hands, signaling them to sit.

  “I know the people are concerned about the shortage of grains for bread this winter and the rising price of produce as well,” she began, “but trust me. Catherine will not fail you.”

  “But, Madame Press Secretary,” The reporters shouted as they looked to her for more answers.

  “Yes, I know. We’ve had a challenging winter which has caused havoc here in the States. We will be rerouting grains from our overseas territories soon. The American people will not starve this winter. We as a nation know what it is to endure hardship. Catherine is well aware of the plight of the American people. She will not fail them and neither will this administration. That is all for now.”

  “Why are the men being separated?” another reporter asked.

  Madam Press Secretary, known to her family as Martha, turned and paused and crafting the perfect way to answer this delicate question.

  “Plessey vs. Ferguson, the Separate Car Act, the Chinese Exclusion Act, the list of atrocities committed by the hands of men led to the current state of this country. And the recent actions of men, which need no explanation, have led to our current crisis. This administration vows to protect the American people at any cost.” Her voice pierced everyone in the room as she smacked the podium. There was complete silence stagnating upon an awkward pause. She adjusted her collar as she regained her composure. “I do apologize. As a black woman, this history hits close to home, but it fuels my passion for this administration, and I will do my best by the President and you, the American people. That is what this administration is trying to correct. To fix the evils of the old with the methods of the modern era. Although they may seem strict and brutal to some, they are effective. We have managed to decimate poverty in a year, eliminated the wage gap between men and women, and decreased crime in this country by eighty percent. Now that is something worthy of writing about in your columns. Good day,”

  Cameras flashed, reporters scurried and barraged the stage with questions. The Press Secretary, closed her leather portfolio and left the stage. She then walked quickly to her office, answering questions about how to handle the media from her assistants and ordered a cranberry and turkey pannini from the local shop for dinner before turning the corner into her office.

  She quickly shut the door and exhaled relief as se found herself alone in her swanky blue tapestry draped administrative oasis. She kicked her slid off her shoes and placed them by her door before, sitting at her dest, melting into her black leather chair. She looked down at her desk and saw that her landline phone had various red, yellow, and green lights glowing rapidly. The green and yellow phone calls were easy ones to deal with.

  The red not so much.

>   On her laptop computer, it showed that she had 35 new emails since her press conference with 12 of them marked URGENT. Ontop of those emails, she had three reports to complete regarding food shortages, the agricultural farms in the Gulf Coast and the plan to redistribute the crops across the nation over a 6-8 week period, and the wealth that the region saw especially in the black community in particular for farmers, corrections, and law enforcement.

  The Madame Press Secretary then too her own cell phone out of her own jacket pocket and put it on silent and turned it over. She reached into her desk drawer where a refrigerator quietly hummed. She pulled out a frosted glass, a bottle of gin, and a can of ginger ale. She poured herself a Gin & Ginger, allowing her favorite drink to relax her as she began to compose her articles and answering tireless emails.

  Hours later and after wolfing down her Cranberry Turkey Panini, the clock struck midnight throught the Capital, signaling the universal end of the workday for everyone.

  There was a knock at the door and a beep of a card when Special Agent Athena Gilbert walked popped her head into the Press Secretary’s office. She was tall and thin with ghostly white hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her suit was standard black with a matching tie and a thick Windsor knot keeping it around her neck.

  “Madam Press Secretary,” The Special Agent began.

  “Yes,” The Madam Press Secretary said as she looked towards the Special Agent.

  “It’s time to go home for the night,”

  “Oh,” The Press Secretary replied looking down at the right corner of her computer which now said 00:01AM.

  “Wow, time just flew by,” The Press Secretary said as she closed her laptop. She rose from her desk, grabbed her cell phone, leather portfolio, and a few pens and pencils. Then sheput on her coat, put on her shoes, turned off the office light, and headed out with Special Agent Gilbert taking her home. They drove her in silence in a black Escalade SUV roughly 10 miles away from The White House. Special Agent Gilbert watched in the back as the Press Secretary texted and wrote in her notebook feverishly as she always did at night.

  But this night was odd.

  She would always talk to Special Agent Gilbert and check on her. That was one of her key characteristics. She was a people person. She liked them more than other politicians. Conversing with them was how she got to know them and their wants and desires.

  But,not tonight. Tonight, there would be no talking. Just writing and texting with a ferver that Special Agent Gilbert had not seen before.

  By the time she arrived at her residence, the Madam Press Secretary seemed at ease though. She seem to had gotten out all of her ideas on paper during the ride and calmly exited the vehicle.

  “Thank you, Athena. I appologize for not being more conversational tonight, but I do wish you all the best on your marksmanship exam. Remember to relax, breathe, and squeeze,” Martha said to her.

  “Thank you Madam Secretary. Relax, breathe, and squeeze. I’ll remember that.” Special Agent Gilbert replied.

  “Good night ma’am,” She said as she drove off.

  “Good night,” The Press Secretary replied. As she looked up at the dark house with the exception of the porch light, the Press Secretary breathed out her title, and breathed in her name, Martha.

  She took out her key card and swiped it, safely entering her large colonial home with it locking behind her with a beep and two clicks. She hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. Martha then two bottles of water and a pack of saltines from her island counter. She then walked upstairs and into her private office. She closed the door and took a seat at her desk where she reached into a drawer, pulled out a silver flashlight and pressed a button built into the desk. The desk then bent itself down into the floor creating staircase.

  Martha turned on the flashlight and began walking down the dark staircase into a small bedroom. As she shone the white light on the room, she saw the familiar old furniture pieces she had scavenged for this lair: a tall cherry ok wardrobe, medium sized black and silver table with mismatched chairs green and red chairs, and a beaten white dresser furnished the area. In the corner was a well worn blue door that lead to a small bathroom.

  “Kelly, I’m home,” Martha said as she stood in the center of the room.

  She heard the quiet flushing of a low water toilet and the sound of running water signaling his presence. The worn blue door creaked open to reveal a pair of yellow eyes and a ghostly male face.

  “Martha? ” Kelly asked quietly. He peered out of the doorway crack. Kelly was a once a health and lean college baseball player astro engineer, had clearly been aged by his imprisonment and the events over the past decade.

  “Martha,” He said as he came out of the bathroom. He was thin and pale, wrapping himself in a thick blue robe and matching blue slippers that kept him warm. He paced quickly over to her, looking at his beloved as a light that filled his heart. Kelly’s fearful face cracked a smile and he raced over and kissed her on the cheek and embraced her in a hug. His thin arms wrapped tightly around her, squeezing his ice cold skin into her warm embrace.In form, he appeared to be 70 but in truth Kelly was only a mere 35.

  “Hi,” He said.

  “Miss me much?” She inquired.

  “You have no idea,” He said nuzzling into her neck. She held his face in her hands as she pulled his forehead against hers. Kelly was just a bit taller than Martha but his necessary containment had taken its toll on him. His once elegant black hair was now mostly silver. Tears filled his sparkling yellow hazel eyes and fell down his leathery pale face wrapping around Martha’s fingers. He once had been muscle bound from his baseball days and his hobbies which included Crossfit and triathalons but now he barely held onto life, muchless any muscle tone or definition.

  “I love you,” He whispered.

  “I love you too,” She replied. She kissed him gently, feeling rough thin lips touch her full moist ones.

  “Come, let’s sit and catch up,” He said to her as he took her hand in his and lead her to the bed.

  “How was your day?” He asked as he sat on the bed while Martha sat on the floor.

  “It was good. Well, sort of. I had to play the uber feminist, but I got the press off my back and gave them a good history lesson on discrimination in American history.”

  “Oh, come here. I’ll grease your scalp while you tell me all about it.”

  Kelly reached under his pillow and pulled out a small jar of hair honey and an orange-yellow rat tail comb.

  “So you gave the press a history lesson?” He said as he took her hair out of its bun and combed it then parting it in the middle then began greasing her scalp.

  “Yes. It wasn’t a huge thing, but I did mention Plessey verses. Ferguson and the Chinese Exclusion Act, among other things,” she said with a playful grin.

  “Oh, that’s enlightening,” he said as he parted her hair into quarters. “What other things?”

  Martha laid back against him, relaxing into his robe and between his legs. “Just enough about the struggles of both the past and the present. While the food crisis is an issue, the obesity epidemic of the 2010’s no longer a problem .”

  “Turn to the left, please.”

  “Sure,” she replied.

  He reached into the jar and placed light dabs into sections he had separated out and rubbed them into her scalp as she continued to talk.

  “I do understand their concerns though. We don’t deal with foregin nations anymore. The country has been turned inward for the better half of this administration. I miss good imports but we have increased American agriculture and made the Gulf Coast the New New York City. So much industry and money in a part of the country that has only really known poverty for the massess for centuries, now knows wealth they could not have imagined,”

  “True,” Kelly said as he finished up greasing the left side of her head.

  “And they were asking about the men,”

  “Turn to the right please,” He asked as she continued to ven
t.

  “Waves of protestors were standing outside the gates asking for the men to be returned like they were packages.” Martha exclaimed as she reversed her seated position.

  “Thank you by the way,” She added.

  “You’re welcome,” He said after which he kissed her on the neck and continued working her hair.

  “And I know the methods are intense. Pretty much imprisoning the men and making them work the lands for zero pay and corporal punishment not to mention rationing but it’s what Catherine and a majority of the Cabinet want. I’m the minority in wanting liberal policies and I have no one to back me up,”

  Martha turned and faced Kelly, taking the comb and grease out of his hands and holding hers in his tightly.

  “Except you. And that’s why I’m keeping you here so you don’t have to go down there and work yourself more so to the bone than you already have. I want to keep you safe and alive. The day we got married. I promised you that through anything,”

  “Really? I thought that was my job,” Kelly said.

  “Kelly, be serious,” Martha said.

  “I just love you and I want to protect you with every fiber in my being. I know this isn’t a great place but,”

  “I love this place because you built it to keep me safe.” He said pulling her face into his, lips touching and wrapping into a deep and passionate kiss.

  “The world isn’t quite what we want it to be. I mean, I’d love to be able to walk down the street with you and show you off. Dance with you in public and eat out with you where there are windows and fresh air. But well…” Martha said as she reached on the floor and pulled out the roll of saltines she brought up from the kitchen.

  “Saltines?” She said presenting them to him.

  “Ooh my favorite,” He said opening the sleeve of crackers.

  “Well, they were in the cabinet and the grocery store isn’t open until Wednesday. I have to look like I’m a single woman whose husband is in on The Farm,” Martha said as she stood up and sat on the bed next to him.