The Killing Queens Read online

  “Madam President? Catherine? Are you ok?” Sienna asked.

  Still laughing to the point of near tears, Catherine nodded her head.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” She said still tearing up.

  “This isn’t bad I promise you. This is great. Great news,” She said still laughing and crying at the same time.

  “Ok,” Sierra replied unsure of what the President truly meant.

  Catherine then went into her closet and pulled out a cart with 7 rock glasses and two bottles of whisky, one light and one dark.

  Catherine began pouring gleefully, smiling as she made Rusty Nails, serving one to each of the women.

  “But it’s 10am,” Sierra pointed out.

  “Should we be drinking this early?”

  “For this definitely,” Priscilla said as she drank some of her mixed drink.

  “You have just ensured that the C.H.I.P. program has the maximum potential to be launched and can be a success. So let’s toast to the future of our nation,” Zora said.

  Still unsure but wanting to keep her position and her life, Sierra raised her class to clank against the other members of The Cabinet. They all eagerly gulped down their Rusty Nails with Sierra having a difficult time keeping the stiff drink down while Catherine smoothly in took hers.

  Chapter 4: The Farm

  A week later small white Guardian plane touched down in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Out from it popped Zora in her tan Navy Kaki’s. A black limousine met her at the airport and quietly drove her to her destination of The Farm, close to where she’d grown up in Beauregard Parish in western Louisiana.

  She dozed off in the car, warmed by the Louisiana sun and the few happy memories she had of her family and growing up in Louisiana.

  “We’re here, ma’am,” the driver said, snapping her out of her memories.

  ZoraAs the car pulled up to the gates of The Farm. Crowds of women and girls lined the the black iron gates, cheering her name and holding colorful handmade posters with images of her and greetings in both English and Cajun French.

  “Bienvenue docteur à la maison,” The driver said to to her from the front of the car.

  “Je vous remercie. Ça fait du bien d'être de retour.” She replied to her. The gates creaked open slowly and she entered The Farm’s gates. her

  There were thousands of men working in the fields. They were dressed in orange and white jumpsuits, split into groups by age. The younger boys were picked ripe vegetables and fruits. The middle aged men were shoveling dirt and moving bales of produce. Once they were full, they took them over to the side where the elderly and injured men washed, weighed, and bagged them. They were being washed by blue uniformed guards. All women who had pistols on their side and rifles pointed at the rows of workers to keep them in line and out of trouble.

  As the limousine came to a stop a familiar face appeared..

  “Madam Surgeon General, please allow me to help you,” Sienna said. She wore a uniform made up of a pair of brown cargo pants, dark brown riding boots, and white and black striped shirt. On her head was a brown floppy hat that shielded her from the sun but still showed off her gold star warden badge, silver pistol on her side, and tightly coiled brown bullwhip on her side. offering her hand..

  “Thank you, Warden,” Zora said as she got out of the car and put her cover on her head.

  “Welcome to The Farm.”

  Zora looked around and took what she saw in. .

  “This looks great,” Zora said. “Do we have anything that can go on the mass market?

  “We do. If you follow me, I can take it to you,” Warden Sienna responded.

  “Great,” Zora said.

  Zora followed the Warden into one of open barns. The assembly line was manned and still producing bags of produce as the two officials walked through guarded by their staff of corrections officers and secret service agents. Sienna lead them up and through the wooden factory, carefully examining how the workers packaged the produce which today were red chilli peppers. They emptied buckets into humongous brown barrels that were picked through by two elderly gentlemen. The two men pulled out the best looking peppers and sent them up the assembly line and the not as perfect ones were sent up to an adjoining line. The peppers were then put through a dishwasher of sorts as they were washed clean of any dirt or plants that came with them. They rolled on a conveyor belt and sprayed by a series of workers with three cycles of green vegetable sanitizer and clear blue purified water. After that, they were met by a vent that sucked all of the moisture from them. This machine was manned by six men who took turns moving the machine up and down to keep the heat going. Then the peppers were shot across the room into piles. A set of seated assembly line workers picked the peppers and separated them into bags of ten a piece. Those bags were then put into a cart and moved to a section where the eldest of the elderly sat in a room separate from the others and put labels on them that said “ NEW USA PRODUCED PEPPERS”. These packages were then placed into brown cardboard boxes and stacked for distribution.

  “This is wonderful,” Zora said as she pulled a bag out of an open box and examined it. She waw that the packaging job was pristine. The seals were not smudged and the sticker placement was precise. She opened the package and inhaled the scent of the bag. It was spicy and fresh. The fire from the peppers made her nose hairs wiggle and reminded her of the summers she spent out on Avery Island, picking these same peppers and occasionally snacking on them in the fields. She bit into one right then and there and smiled.

  “This is delicious,” She said taking another bite of pepper.

  “We can start putting these and our other crops in stores as soon as we get the go ahead from Catherine,” Sienna said.

  “Can I see the other prepared foods?” Zoraasked.

  “Absolutely,” Sienna said. She took her across The Farm and to each and every packaing warehouse and its adjoining storehouse room. They were all the same in method but different in materials. Soy beans, sweet potatoes, corn, strawberries, green peppers, lemons, limes, oranges, tomatoes, cucumbers, romaine lettuce, spinach, kale, and other fruits and vegetables filled the house on The Farm.

  By the end of her visit, Zorawas covered in sweat but had a smile beaming from her face.

  “This is going to be what changes everything,” Zora said as she pulled out her phone. She took photos of the peppers and typed a quick and short text message to her. A few moments later, Dr. Armani’s phone dinged. “She said yes and to please, go ahead and send this food out for distribution,” Zora said reading off what she said.

  “Very well. Sienna said. She then pulled out a silver whistle from her pocket and blew it. With that, a rumble was felt across The Farm. The ground shook slightly, then silence.

  “What’s that?” Zora said worriedly.

  “Oh just all of the workers who are going to move the produce for us. Come along. I’ll show you,” Sienna said.

  She opened a side door to reveal rows of men in a series of formations. Orange and black jumpsuited men stood in lines facing one particular direction in rectangles of 10X10. At each corner was a guard on horseback surveying the area as they faced a stage that was central to The Farm.

  Sienna strode confidently through the crowd with Zorasearching around. She walked with her boots rolling from heel to to, chest pushed out, and eyes on the stage where a single microphone stand stood.

  She took her place on the stage with all eyes on her, clearly watching and waiting for her words.

  “Good Morning Farm,” She said into the microphone.

  “GOOD MORNING WARDEN!!!” The crowd of male prisoners said in unison. It was so loud that it echoed seemingly for miles making the dance the distance on this still and hot Louisiana day.

  “Today is a great day for the New United States,” She began her speech.

  “Today is a day where we give back to the women who birthed this nation, the fruits and vegetables they deserve to nourish their bodies and minds,” She continued. Sienna pointed
over for Zorato join her by the microphone. Zoraslowly walked over to the microphone and stood next to her.

  “This is the Surgeon General, Navy Admiral Dr. Armani. Say good morning gentlemen,” Sienna commanded.

  “GOOD MORNING DR. ARMANI!!!” They shouted in unison.

  Zora was caught a bit off guard by that and scared a bit.

  “Good, good morning gentlemen,” She replied.

  Sienna then leaned over and retook control of the microphone.

  “Thank you Dr. Armani,” She began.

  “Alright men. We have a new mission. Your job is to now empty the warehouses of all of the food and pack it into trucks that the guards will bring to you. You will be helping the world which I am sure many of you are so eager to rejoin but only, if you earn it. Are we good?” She asked.

  “YES MA’AM!!!” They responded.

  “Very good,” Sienna said. She again pulled out her whistle and blew it again. In one false swoop, the men turned around and walked towards the storehouses. Immediately, they made a human chain of men moving bags into trucks that were parked in the back of the storehouse. It was clean, methodical, and clearly mastered.

  “This is amazing,” Zora said as she organized this nearly perfect human chain.

  “Oh this is nothing,” Sienna replied.

  “Wait until you see this,”

  Sienna then pulled out her cell phone and pressed three buttons.

  With that, a door from underneath the platform opened up. A single armed prison guard lead n a long line of six various men with their heads down. Each of them stood, dressed in the same outfit. Brown shoes, khaki pants, and blue sweater vest over a white button up.

  “These are the C.H.I.P. men.What do you think?”

  Zora observed the men in front of her. They were of various races and heights but they all had the same meek demeanor.

  “Do you all speak?”

  “Yes ma’am,” They replied in unison looking directly at her.

  “Oh,” Zora replied surprised at the staring from the men.

  “Thank you. Warden, where is the one that is assigned to you?

  “Oh Jacob,” She called out.

  From the corner of her eye, a man came and stood next to her. He had slightly curly hair, brown freckles and lightly tanned skin. He was neat in a pinstripe shirt and had on leather suspenders to hold up his dark brown pants over his light brown boots.

  “Dr. Armani, this is Jacob, my C.H.I.P man,” She said as she presented him.

  Zora looked at with piercing blue eyes and smiled at her.

  “Good afternoon Dr. Armani. Welcome to The Farm,” He said with a slight robotic sound to his voice.

  “Good afternoon Jacob,” She replied.

  “May I invite her into the home for tea and lemon bars Warden?” Jacob asked the Warden.

  “Not today Jacob although that was very kind of you,” Sienna commented.

  “Dr. Armani, do you have any questions for Jacob?”

  Zora thought to herself as she examined Jacob. He looked healthy, strong, and clearly had an obedient tone. She was not worried about him. She was worried about the others. They had not spoken individually to her and even though one was hers, she had not selected him just yet. Throughout her life and in the end of what was the United States, Zora had many interactions with men. Not many of them being good, but these C.H.I.P. men seemed to be promising and everything that plain old men weren’t.

  “Very well,” She said looking down at her watch.

  “I’ll take them back with me and present them at the party. Thank you Zora for conducting this experiment for us. I am sure it will go well in the future with the Cabinet as a whole,”

  “I am sure it will indeed,” The Warden said as the shook hands firmly sealing the deal that had been forged years earlier to protect the nation and ensure its legacy.

  Chapter 5: The Meeting

  “It was very nice to meet with you today,” Riva said as she entered the room. It was a large room with a blood red carpet with three chairs around a medium sized round table.

  On one side was the female French President, Genevieve Martin. She was an older and very thin woman with gray hair put into a loose bun. Across from her at the table was the Canadian Prime Minister, Roy Wilson, a husky, middle-aged man with a thick beard and wavy dark hair.

  “So, let’s talk,” Riva began as she sat. “We, the American government, would like you to join us in our new, quite successful experiment,” Riva began.

  “Does this experiment have anything to do with the imprisoning of American men?” Prime Minister Wilson asked.

  “Well, they’re not imprisoned,” she stated.

  “From the photos that have been surging around Europe, they are being treated as such,” President Martin added with her heavy French accent. “Orange striped jumpsuits, working in fields, unable to go anywhere they choose, inside by nightfall it sounds like a prison to me.”

  Riva paused, thinking carefully about what to say and how to say it.

  “We have made the move to remove men from our society for their safety as well as the women as well,” shestarted.

  “How has that helping society?” Prime Minister Wilson asked. “I want to know how throwing men in a cage help society,” he demanded.

  “By keeping them away from the world,” Riva stated, pointing at him. “That anger and rage. Uncontrolled and responsible for pain to other men, women, and even children.”

  “But that’s not fair,” he countered.

  “But is it? For centuries, men have used their power and brash to push women back and down across countries and cultures,” she said. “The famous Canadian author, L.M. Montgomery, wasn’t allowed to publish Anne of Green Gables easily in the early 1900’s, yet now, thanks to her novels, the island Prince Edward Island is one of the top tourist attractions in Canada. Don’t you think some retribution deserves to be delivered for her and for other women like her who were discriminated against simply because of their gender? Or do you think men deserve to be kings while women are the peasants that nations are built upon?”

  There was an awkward silence before President Martin spoke again,

  “What exactly are you planning?” “I mean, you said that you wanted to integrate men back into society, so clearly they’re being released from the ‘camps’ as you call them.”

  “Yes, they have been in re-education camps where they have been learning how to be more appreciative of the women in their lives,” Riva explained.

  They looked at the screen and saw images happily working in the fields and warehouses.

  “While on occasion some made the men angrier and more violent, we believe we have created the perfect solution,” Riva said.

  “The men have been implanted with a baseline data set called the C.H.I.P program otherwise known as the Computerized Handling Initiation Program. This data set allows them to be an ideal homemaker, chef, protector, parent, support system, spouse, and lover. Always well groomed and in ideal shape and standards according to several surveys completed during the first two years of the Kearny administration,” Riva said.

  “This plus the connection codes that will come from their spouses pheromones produced from their sweat which they will inhale.”

  “Wait, I’m sorry. Inhale sweat?” Prime Minister Wilson inquired

  “And how do you know this will work?” President Martin asked.

  “Humans are attracted to pheromones. It’s in our genetic code,” Riva explained. “Like other mammals and even plants, pheromones are at the cornerstone of our foundation as sexual beings. Think of it as a really good cocktail. For example, Sex on the Beach. You have a blend of Vodka, cranberry juice,peach schnapps, orange juice or pineapple if that’s more to your liking. Then you put it in a nice highball glass with an orange slice and cherry for decoration. Normally, this is the woman. Bright, colorful, in tightfitting clothing attempting to attract the best man for her and her future. Men look at her pick and ponder. Going ba
ck and forth but never really taking care of their drink. Until now. Men are programmed to go to a specific woman and to treat her in a specific and great way. No more competition, no more last picks. Everyone gets treated the same by their assigned male partner.”

  The foreign leaders sat stunned and speechless in their chairs.

  “There is no way Canada will agree to this,” Prime Minister Wilson said as he got out of his chair. “Look, I’m sorry for men treating you horribly, but I can’t sentence all men to live a life like this.” He stormed out of the room leaving Riva and President Martin.

  “President Martin?” Riva asked.

  She paused and sat quietly for a few moments, furrowing her brow and tapping her pen on the desk.

  “You know, when people look at France, they see beauty. Good wine, good bread, art, music, etcetera,” she began, “but they don’t see the pain. The pain of France,” she said, looking down at the table.

  “But you can change that,” Riva said to her and she gently tapped her hand.

  President Martin then looked up at Riva and smiled. “How can I bring this to France?”

  Chapter 6: The Play

  Further south in Charleston, South Carolina, Priscilla was visiting her hometown high school. As she drove down King Street, dozens of people lined the sidewalks, waving Marine Corps and American flags.

  “It’s good to be home,” she said to her secret service agents.

  As they turned onto the school road, a large group of girls in matching purple and white uniforms stood outside with flags and posters for Priscilla welcoming her back.

  “Welcome back to Septima P. Clark High School, MadameVice President,” an older woman said as they helped her get out of the car with her agents protecting them both as they climbed out of the limousine.

  There were dozens of girls shouting her name and even a few protestors on the opposite side of the road shouting concerns about the men in the nation as well as but their concerns fell on deaf ears from the vice president. She was home.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gilliard. It’s nice to see you again,” Priscilla said in response, looking at her old principal. She was dark brown woman who was still elegant with silver hair and shapely curves.