The heavy robe was getting to her. It was dark and scratchy and she didn't like wearing it in the least, but it was a requirement. It had been six weeks since her arrival in the ruins of Arlington and each and every hour had been spectacularly boring. Around her neck, feeling more like a yoke every day, was her particular five-pointed circle hanging from a thin rope. She had been designated a Paige on her arrival, and through her initiation, she had moved up rapidly to Acolyte of the Senate. A musky smoke permeated the old halls of the stone buildings in which she wandered during the day. There were countless rituals at the commencement of every meeting, replete with chants, incense, readings from the minutes, recitations of the liturgy and the occasional clack of hammers on wood blocks. She felt the presence through these rituals of ancient gods, or more accurately, the gods of the near past, immortalized in paintings and statues throughout the worn halls.

Gladys Reynolds had come here to find an ally. This goal was growing increasingly remote as the hours, and days wore on. She had spoken to a few Representatives, and one General of the Stars named Gary Hamilton, but received no indication her meetings had produced any true alliance between her family in Pittsburgh and these elite figureheads of lost governance.

The flags here were always at half-staff. They depicted the thirteen stripes of the original colonies, but in the familiar blue field in the corner rather than a multitude of stars, there sat only one in the middle. It was enlarged, but to Gladys, it looked sad and solitary. She was told this star represented the one remaining state, embodied only by these buildings, on this small plot of land. It was a state with no name. It signified the dream of a reunited America. However sincere the devotees were in their daily rituals, it was hard for Gladys to take it all as seriously as it was intended. The sense of futility hung in the air with the musky smell of stale incense.

Many of the meeting rooms were deep underground, accessible only by elevator. Lights were kept alive due to old stores of fluorescent bulbs and LEDs. She had been told electricity was plentiful, thanks to a working nuclear power plant beneath their feet. This was privileged information, for the need to know only. She didn't know yet why she needed to know.

She sat in an empty room, reading an account of impeachment hearings of a sitting president named Clinton back in the 1990s. There were references to real estate misdeeds, marital affairs and other details which were hard to put into any context in light of the events of the dark century which followed. It also referenced a similar impeachment proceeding two decades before and was cross-referenced with the two impeachments following it. This was a tiny fraction of the required reading for members of the Senate Conclave. Gladys was determined to push through it but didn't know how much more of the crushing ton of liturgy she could digest. None of it had any application to present events. These felt like dead texts, fascinating to scholars but useless to her. She needed something here to help her fight the inevitable aggression of her rival in the east.

Over the past two decades, she had become aware of Barnabas' desire for more territory and control. Her spies in New Atlantic had sent her inklings of plans, all of which seemed ludicrous until a few months ago when she got wind of his designs on the Hudson Valley. Her agent paid dearly for disclosing that information. Harold and his family had snuck away in the hold of the ship that brought her here. They had been relocated, and doubtless, Harold was somewhere in one of the buildings, listening to the same chants as her, inhaling the same smoke. She knew when she returned home, her family would be at war with the Yonivers if they were not already. She needed assistance and soon, or her sons would be repelling his army of Raiders and worse, indentured xombies.

Dealing with Barnabas' grandfather had been straightforward. The old man was cruel and ruthless, but predictable in his machinations. He limited his conquests to the ruins of Philadelphia, the Main Line, and the eastern half of The Jersey. He was a brilliant businessman, but not a tactician. In those days, the bar for victory was lower. Independent towns were happy to have someone to supply them with food and drink. They pledged their allegiance easily. The elder Barnabas took nothing for granted. His moves were strategic and careful. His grandson, on the other hand, was more of a wildcard. He had a temper that made him easy to read, but his plans were secretive, and harder to discern. She feared what he was up to in her absence.

She had known Barney since they were kids, of course. His lush of a father had brought him and his brother and sister to Baywood to camp out with her and her sisters in the woods while he drank up her parent's whiskey. The less said about Barnabas III, the better. The man was just plain weak. Sometimes Gladys wondered whether Miranda had conceived him out of an affair with a member of the house staff, or worse. Three just didn't seem to be of the same stock as Two. Then again, if that were the case, how did he conceive Four? More likely the genes which gave Barney and his grandfather their strength skipped a generation.

She tried to get back to her reading. Putting down the Clinton proceedings, she reached for records from the deeper past. Accounts were here about a plot against President Roosevelt in the thirties and forties. Much of it had been blacked out. A general named Butler had conspired with powerful families of the day and then double-crossed them. 'So much irony in that name,' thought Gladys. 'Beware the house staff. They are never as loyal as one might hope.' The families had a long way to go before they inspired the type of loyalty owed to the kings and queens of the deep past. It was an uphill battle.

A man entered wearing the same robes as her. A silver circlet hung from his neck designating him a member of the military.

"Gladys Reynolds," he said formally, "I am Representative Lawrence Jefferson. Would you please follow me. The Speaker of the House will see you now."

Gladys eagerly put the sheaf of papers on top of the pile on the conference table before her and rose to follow Jefferson. He led her out of the old building. A driver waited for them next to a small electric vehicle. The two squeezed into the back and they buzzed away down a narrow path between rows of young trees to a short one story metal house. Inside the house was an elevator. They descended a long way down until the doors opened to reveal another electric car in an underground tunnel. Another driver was waiting. The tunnel seemed to go on for miles, lined with pipes and lit by glowing rows of tubes. The cart finally came to a halt at a door in the side of the tunnel. She and Jefferson disembarked, and the driver unlocked the door. Inside were a few steps down to an oval room. Ancient video monitors covered the curved walls. At the center, seated at a desk, was a woman in a suit surrounded by four people in robes, their hoods covering their faces.

She stood. "Robin Washington," she said, extending a hand toward Gladys. "Speaker of the House."

"All rise for the honorable Speaker." The hooded figures chanted this in a low monotone. Everyone was already standing.

"Please have a seat," Speaker Washington said. "We have a lot to discuss." Gladys placed herself in the lone chair facing the large desk. The Speaker sat as well. The robed figures moved to positions at the monitors around the room. Only two of the monitors seemed to be working.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but it seems everyone here has the same name as one of the former presidents. Is it coincidence?"

"We take the names of presidents according to our rank as we ascend past the level of Acolyte," Robin said. "I took the name of Washington as I became the Speaker. That name is only shared by the Leader of the Senate."

"Is he or she here?"

"He is needed elsewhere right now. We both agreed I should greet you and walk you through what we are doing here. I'm hoping we can come to an agreement about a special alliance between your family in Pittsburgh and the Memoria of the Fallen States here in Arlington.

"As you well know Gladys, we have long been dormant here. We are grateful to you and the other loyal families for your tribute. I am meeting with you to show you your faith has not been in vain."

Gladys breathed a cautious sigh of relief. Her visit here was finally going to pay off, she hoped.

"We call ourselves The Memoria because we strive to keep the memory of a United States alive here. We don't call ourselves a government since a government needs a country to govern. As you know, when the economies of the world crashed decades ago, the taxes we relied on to maintain our programs and systems dried up. Beyond our shores, many governments fell into pirate dictatorships and worse, but without money, even these eventually dissolved. At the end of our working democracy, a few visionaries reformed our society based on the principles of the founders, dedicating ourselves to remembering, and waiting."

"I understand." This story was well known. During her father's time, the representatives reached out to the heads of the major families. "You know we all call you 'The Powers That Were.' I hope you don't take it as a sign of disrespect. It's just a figure of speech."

"Well, it's an accurate one, and no, it isn't disrespectful. We are what you say, but we prefer to focus on our efforts to preserve the value of what was lost, rather than focus on the ghost of what was. It's a subtle difference. Would you like some coffee?"

"I would love some if you have any," she lied.

Robin raised her left hand a few inches off the surface of the desk. Gladys heard the movement of the robed figures behind her.

"Now, Gladys, please tell me how things fare in your hometown."

This was what Gladys had been preparing for. She collected her thoughts. "Grain production is adequate, trade continues apace. We have had trouble maintaining our numbers. There have been losses among our workers to the xombie scourge. That said, we are well positioned in Pittsburgh. The one thing concerning us is the movements of our brothers and sisters in New Atlantic at the easternmost edge of The Jersey. We know the Yonivers have been plotting something in the Hudson Valley and we are worried it might upset the delicate balance of power among the landed families. We're concerned he may be attempting to subvert the xombies to his own purposes. This is a grave problem, as we don't know if he is fallen to their inhuman technology, or if he's found a way to put them under his yoke. Either way, the implications are grave." Her recitation done, she sat back and allowed herself to relax before hearing a response.

Robin said nothing but looked up and over Gladys' shoulder. "Ah, good. Thank you, Michael."

Two china cups arrived, with matching saucers. These were ancient and well preserved. A small amount of creamy looking coffee sat at the bottom of each. The smell overpowered the ubiquitous incense. "Sugar?" Robin asked.

"Please."

Michael dropped two sugar cubes, on Glady's acquiescence, into the shallow pools of blackness. The tops turned brown as they sat in the cup extending above the top of the liquid. Robin took two as well.

"I think you will like this," Robin said. "Sip it slowly. It is strong."

It was. Robin sipped hers and leaned back in her chair. "Espresso," she said. "We have an old cache of it preserved in tiny pods. It's a marvel."

"Thank you, it's very good." Gladys didn't like the taste at all. She wished she had a cup of tea instead.

"So, I have mixed news for you. We received word this morning that three days ago, the town of New Atlantic was burned to the ground. The people there are blaming your family for the arson. I assume this is not the case?"

Gladys found herself standing, shocked by the news. She got control of herself and returned to her seat. "I promise you, no one in my family had anything to do with it. We had no such plan."

"I am assured," Robin said after finishing her beverage. She held up her cup briefly and put it back in her saucer. Michael took it away. "We think it was a counter attack by the xombies against the Yoniver family after their successful invasion of Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow. News from the Hudson Valley is harder to come by. Somehow the Yoniver leader was able to sever the connections holding the xombies together, if only temporarily."

"Is Barnabas killed?" Gladys was in awe of the plan he had managed to put into effect, however fatal it may have been.

"He wasn't in New Atlantic during the crisis. Our messenger escaped before Barnabas returned there if he returned there at all." Another espresso arrived in front of her. Two more sugar cubes dropped into the cup.

The reality of the situation was dawning on Gladys as she sat and pretended to enjoy her bitter sludge. Trade with the Jersey coast was gone. Her town relied on goods delivered by the Yonivers, not the least of which was her beloved tea. However much it was good to hear about Barnabas' probable failure there, it was a disaster. He could still amass the xombies to attack her from the east. If he had gotten control of the net-wits, things would be dire indeed.

As she contemplated this, Robin finished her second espresso and waved away a third. "Things seem to be in flux in your part of the world. Don't despair. Your situation is about to improve significantly. Follow me." She stood, and walked to the far end of the oval room, where a hidden door sat in one of the walls. She pushed it and it opened to blackness. She waved Gladys to stand by her side.

"We've not been entirely asleep here in The Memoria. Here beneath our hallowed halls, the Intelligence Acolytes have been hard at work these long years." She flipped a switch on the other side of the wall and lights flickered to life inside of an enormous cavern.

Gladys looked down and gasped.

The floor seemed to be lined with spiders. She tried to jump back, but Michael gently nudged her forward again. She looked down. It took a minute to get a sense of perspective. The floor was thirty to forty feet below them. There was a metal platform with a railing in front of her and she cautiously walked to the edge. To one side, a series of metal stairs lead down to the floor of the cavern far below where there were hundreds, or perhaps thousands of giant black spiders. Her eyes focused, and she saw some of the spiders were the size of a dog and some were the size of a horse. It took longer for her eyes to adapt to the black on black forms, but she could see the larger spiders had people riding on their backs. She shook her head. It was an image out of a nightmare. The torsos on the backs of the spiders had no legs. They had no faces. They were just the same uniform black as the creatures they rode. Then she saw they were not riders, but human-shaped extensions of the same creatures. She turned to look at Robin.

"What is this?" She whispered.

Robin Washington turned toward the robed figures by the screens and waved a finger in the air. Then she turned back to Gladys.

"Watch," she said.

Gladys watched as thousands of giant black metal spiders looked up in their direction, waved a foreleg back and forth in the air for a moment in perfect unison and then pounded the rock floor with a deafening clang.