by Frank Tayell
“I did. It wasn’t your best.”
“It was a mistake. I should have cancelled it when the plane failed to arrive. I couldn’t say what I wanted, so tried to come up with words that would unify the nation, would offer comfort and strengthen resolve. I don’t think I managed it, but when that zombie cut it short, I was hustled from the podium and into the motorcade. It was only as we were driving away that I realized I didn’t recognize the agents. I felt the jab of a needle, and woke up here. Wherever that is. Any ideas?”
“It might be Pennsylvania. It might not. It’s an old industrial site in the middle of nowhere.”
“Ah. So how did you end up here? How did they catch you?”
“I was using satellite images to find a safe route to the coast. They tracked my usage. It was Powell, the man with the white hair, who caught me. He was the guy who framed me for murder. He killed the journalist in my house back on the day of the inauguration. I almost killed him on the day of your address, but he was calling himself Herold back then.”
“Shame you didn’t manage it. But he told me his name was Spangler. I think that’s what he said. We didn’t have a long conversation. I suppose I don’t know anything that they don’t. I think he just wanted to meet me so he could say that he had. Spangler, Herold, and Powell? That’s familiar, though I can’t place why, and not that it matters now.”
“Have they questioned you much?” Tom asked.
“They’ve barely asked me anything at all,” Max said.
“What about Farley, have you seen him? Is he here?”
“Farley?” Max sounded surprised. “He’s dead, Tom.”
“He is?”
“Two days after the outbreak in New York.”
“That’s impossible,” Tom said. “Then who’s running the cabal?”
“You thought Farley was behind it? He wasn’t. Two days after the outbreak, he went off the grid. His security detail lost track of him for two hours. He was found in his car. It had crashed.”
“Maybe that’s what they told you,” Tom said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“He was still alive. They took him to the hospital. I saw him there. I was with him when he died, and he did die, Tom.”
“I… I was sure it was him,” Tom said. “I was certain he was the one behind all of this.”
“You were wrong. A week after I asked him to be secretary of state, he came to me asking for the offer to be rescinded. He had cancer.”
“You didn’t say,” Tom said.
“No. He didn’t want anyone to know, and that was why I couldn’t withdraw the appointment. Imagine what it would have looked like. Offering him the job was meant to shore up party unity. Rescinding it would have led to an outright civil war.” Max gave a bitter laugh. “A poor choice of words. I told him that as long as his treatment wasn’t affecting his work, then the job was his, but that if he felt he couldn’t do it, he’d have to resign and say why.”
“He was involved,” Tom said. “I know it. He was part of the conspiracy. More than that, he was at its very center. It’s why he was chosen as a candidate for the election.”
“The manner of his death suggests he had a change of heart. He was on his way to meet with someone in the Russian embassy when his car crashed. We thought Russia was behind the outbreak before we discovered it was North Korea. I think he went to confirm they had no better idea of how it had begun than we had. Although, here and now, talking to you, the idea of North Korea being behind this is laughable. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have entertained the idea for a second.”
“If Farley came to you after the election, then he can’t have been part of this plot,” Tom said. “I know that the cabal’s plans were brought forward, and I thought it was because I was closing in on them. Perhaps it was because they were worried Farley would confess all he knew. Although, why not simply kill him?”
“Does it matter?” Max asked.
“Yes. When I learned General Carpenter was dead, I assumed Farley was working his way down the line of succession. If anything, his death confirms that’s precisely what someone else is doing. What about the speaker, or the president pro tempore?”
“The speaker went missing,” Max said. “I… I don’t remember when. There’s a lot I don’t remember. I’ve had time to think over the last few days. It began on the day of the inauguration, which means they had it planned long in advance, perhaps even before the last ballot was cast. At some point after I’d taken the oath, and before I saw you, they drugged me. It made me… erratic. There’s a lot I don’t remember. Those memories I do have aren’t clear, but cloudy, as if I were trying to peer into the depths of a murky pond. I don’t know how that initial dose was administered, but I think the rest were in my toothpaste, or the soap, or something in the residence. When I moved down to the bunker, I came back to myself. Not completely, I’m still not what I was, and of course, now it’s too late. I’ll never see Claire, Jane, or Rick ever again. I’ll never be able to take back what I did, what I said. I’ll never be able to apologize to Claire, but I can apologize to you. I’m sorry, Tom.”
“What for?”
“For not listening to you. You know what Claire said? She said she trusted you, and I should do the same. They showed me proof that you were behind the bombings on the day of the inauguration. She didn’t believe it when I told her. I said… well, it doesn’t matter now. Whether the words were unforgivable or not, there will be no opportunity for apology, only redemption.”
“Not Farley, not the speaker, not General Carpenter, so who?” Tom asked. “Who else was there? What else can you remember?”
“Signing pieces of paper. I can remember maps in the situation room. Walking the corridors at night and… I think there were phone calls. At least, I remember talking into the phone I can’t be sure there was anyone at the other end. After a night in the bunker, I became aware of how abnormal I felt. That’s when I learned how close my country was to destruction. Contradictory orders had been given, apparently by me. Governors had been told to deploy the National Guard to protect the small towns while Homeland had been given control of local police units and told to deploy them around state capitals. The military was dispatched to the middle of nowhere, with orders to hold the high ground. I don’t think they had any better idea of what that meant than I did. That was the point, I think. Enough orders were given that it appeared there was a national strategy, yet in truth it just delayed any real response to the crisis.”
“Delayed it long enough for the country to tear itself apart,” Tom said. “We could have stopped it in Manhattan. It could be over by now if the police hadn’t been drafted out of the city, and if the military had been deployed.”
“I know. You don’t think I know? I have to live with that. I’m the president that destroyed the country, destroyed the world!”
“That’s not what I meant,” Tom said. “The military and police were removed so they could be kept safe and redeployed when you’d been replaced. That must have been the plan, but they’ve left it too late. I saw what it was like out there. Tens of thousands of refugees tearing towns apart in search of shelter from just as many zombies, and there were more of the living dead every day.”
Max sighed. “And all my fault. That’s not self-pity. It’s a simple statement of fact. I could have stopped this. I didn’t.”
Tom wanted to say that it wasn’t too late, that it wasn’t over, but their dark prison was no place for wishes and platitudes. “You said something about a plane that didn’t arrive,” he said instead.
“What? Oh. Yes. It’s a very strange thing, becoming president. Before the glow of victory has a chance to fade, you’re taken aside and told some very hard truths about our nation, and about the world. Things that you suspected, things you even guessed at. Being shown the files, the photographs, the intelligence reports, it made suspicions a nightmare reality. There are so many contingencies. None for zombies, but plenty for things that are just as
bad. Nuclear war is only the start. You know there’s a plan for invading England? It was created during the Second World War and updated during the Soviet era. The word liberation features prominently, and it is listed as a training exercise, but it came in useful when I had to speak to their new prime minister. Did you hear that Quigley, their foreign secretary, has taken over?”
“I did. He’s a vile man.”
“Indeed. Farley told me about Archangel, about this plan to create a super-vaccine. I hadn’t worked out what to do with the information. When I went down to the bunker, and removed myself from whatever poison they were doping me with, I discovered that Quigley was promising the people of Britain a dose of this vaccine during an evacuation of their cities. Apparently it works against the undead. Not in all cases, but in enough. I threatened him with those invasion plans unless he handed it over. I told him that if he didn’t share it, I would take it. That was what was on the plane. One hundred thousand vials of vaccine. I was going to use the address to announce the vaccine’s existence. I thought knowledge of it would hold the nation together long enough for order to be restored. The plane didn’t arrive. I changed what I was going to say. Now I’m here.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if it had arrived,” Tom said. “That zombie was infected deliberately. Your speech was sabotaged.”
“I know, and I also know it no longer matters. Not now. They plan that I should become a zombie and be filmed killing others. That’s why I’m still alive. They want the manner of my death to add legitimacy to my successor, whoever that is. I imagine you have some similar role to play.”
“That’s truly evil,” Tom said. “And I’m not going to sit here waiting for it.” He pushed himself to his feet.
Max grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Wait. There’s very little in this room, believe me, I’ve searched every inch of it.” He stood. There was the sound of shuffling steps, then a clink of metal. Max sat down again. “Here, this is all I found. No, don’t move your hands.” A moment later, the plastic ties were cut. “It’s a pipe,” Max said. “I’ve been sharpening the edge against the wall, but I have no intention for this particular democracy to commit suicide, not when there’s some fight still in me.”
Tom grinned. “I’m not sure that’s precisely what John Adams meant. There’s twelve vehicles out front, so at least twelve people here, plus Powell, his two guards, and the pilot of the helicopter. There’s likely to be more.”
“And we’ll deal with them one at a time. They open the door to drop in food and water. When they do, there are always two of them, and they’re cautious. At all other times, there’s only jailer on guard outside, I’m certain. Do you know what time it is?”
Out of reflex, Tom’s hand went to his pocket to retrieve his phone. “No, but it was about an hour from sunset when they brought me in here.”
“We’ll wait six hours. I’ll hammer at the door. You stand behind it. When it opens, we’ll make our move. Take the jailor’s weapons and see how far we get.”
The rush of enthusiasm that came from having planned an attack began to wane. Time dragged and was hard to keep track of.
“I’d say it’s been about an hour,” Tom said.
“About that,” Max agreed.
“I think I should apologize to you.”
“I agree, but was there a particular transgression that came to your mind?” Max asked.
“I won’t apologize for asking you to run for office, nor for helping you win the election,” Tom said. “There might have been a time when we could have debated the relative merits of that, but after all that’s happened, I’m certain I was in the right.”
“So what do you want to apologize for?”
“I should have told you everything right from the beginning,” Tom said.
“That might have been best,” Max said. “If you had, I’m not sure I’d have believed you. When did you know?”
“About the depth of the conspiracy? I still don’t know it all, but it was shortly before I asked you to stand for the presidency. I’d discovered hints of it before then, and that confirmed I’d been chasing these people, or running from them, for my entire adult life.”
“Hm. So when you asked me to stand for the governorship, that wasn’t connected?”
“Honestly, and if this isn’t a time for honesty, when is? Honestly, no. I wanted you in the governor’s mansion partly because I thought it would be useful, partly because I saw the race as a challenge, but mostly because I despised your opponent.”
“Not because you thought I’d be a good leader?”
“Sorry,’ Tom said. “You did a good job, though. And when I was looking for a presidential candidate, yours was the only name on the list.”
“You won’t be insulted if I say I wish it wasn’t?”
Tom smiled. “Hey, it could be worse. Even if you count your address as the end of your presidency, you ruled the country for nearly nine hours longer than William Henry Harrison.”
“So mine wasn’t the shortest presidency in history, even if it might be the last. Another bittersweet victory. Were you really born in Britain?”
“I was. They told you that?” Tom asked.
“They showed me a very large file. The contents were not pleasant.”
“Like what?”
“No, I won’t say. Most of it will be false. Some might not be, and I don’t want you to have to lie. I certainly don’t want you to admit any of it is true. I will assume it was all a fabrication. And I’ll accept your apology, but there’s one thing. Claire, and the children. If you get out of here and I don’t, go to Vermont. She took Rick and Jane there after I… Just go there, and if she’s alive, tell her I’m sorry.”
“Of course.”
“I think it’s time,” Max said.
“Let me knock,” Tom said. “They threw me down here expecting us to fight. I’ll say you’re dead.”
“No. It’s my duty to do that. You stand behind the door. Ready?”
“Here we stand,” Tom said.
“No, Tom,” Max said. “Here we fight.”
Tom went up first, the metal bar gripped tightly in his right hand, his left feeling for the steps in front. He reached the door, extending his hand and moving his feet, searching out how much space he had. Before he’d finished, Max hammered on the door.
“He’s dead,” the president yelled. “He’s dead.”
“What?” the jailer called out.
“I said he’s dead,” Max said. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? I killed him. So what now? What next?”
“You killed him?” the jailer asked. There was a brief silence that stretched long enough for Tom to think they’d made a mistake. There was no reason for the guard to unlock the door. Max would be told to wait until morning, or—
There was the sound of a key in a lock, a metallic click as the padlock was removed, and another as the bolt thrown back.
“Stand back!” the jailer barked. The door opened. The corridor was so brightly lit in comparison to the pitch-dark cell that Tom was nearly blinded. He swung the metal pipe at the guard’s shadow. He missed the man’s head, but the pipe crunched into his collarbone. The man screamed. Tom swung again, slamming the metal bar down on the man’s skull. The screaming stopped.
“I’ve got his rifle, get his sidearm. Quick,” Max said.
Blinking, trying to bring the shifting, pulsating shapes into focus, Tom pawed at the man’s clothing until he found the belt, the holster, the pistol. He drew it. “Got it.”
“Now!” Max ran out into the blinding light of the corridor. Tom followed, blinking in the harsh white light that surrounded them. It was too bright. Far too bright.
“Oh, well done,” Powell called out. Max staggered to a halt. Tom did the same, trying to see the man. There were two walls of light, twenty feet from the door, on either side. The lights were dimmed. Behind the lamps, on both sides of the corridor, were five guards, all armed with assault rifles, which were poi
nting at him and Max. Powell stood, arms folded, to the left.
“Quite a show,” Powell said. “Thoroughly entertaining, though I did hope you’d be a little more inventive.”
“I guess you were right, Tom,” Max said. “This where we stand.” He raised the rifle. Tom spun around, not aiming, just pointing the pistol in the guards’ direction. He pulled the trigger as Max pulled his. Nothing happened.
“Is there anything else you’d like to try?” Powell asked in that same self-satisfied simper. “As I say, it was an entertaining show, but as it’s at an end, it’s time for the next to begin.”
“There are cameras in there?” Max asked, gesturing at the cell.
“Of course,” Powell said.
“You let us kill that man,” Tom said.
“Is he dead?” Powell asked. “Well, his blood is on your hands. The circumstances that put him into them were on his. Within our cause, dedication must be absolute. Now.”
Something hit Tom in the chest. He vaguely registered the wires snaking back to the guard’s weapon before the pain began.
When he came to, he was back in the cell. The dead guard was gone. So was Max. He could be absolutely certain because the lights were on. They didn’t go out.
Chapter 11 - Questions
Time Unknown, Location Unknown
Tom sat on the bottom step, his eyes closed, his mind on the past. The lights hadn’t been turned off since the ill-fated escape attempt. There was a blanket in the room, though the harsh lighting emitted so much heat that it was unnecessary. Following what Max had said, he’d ignored the half-empty bottle of water until thirst forced him to take a sip. Fear and exhaustion joined paranoia, making him certain the water was drugged, and that he shouldn’t drink any more. Thirst crept up on him, a tidal force that couldn’t be denied. He took another sip and regretted it immediately. The cycle continued until the bottle was empty. Other than his growing thirst, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. He wasn’t hungry, so guessed it was less than a day, but he was tired of guesses. Assumptions, theories, and one plan after another had led him here. Plans were for the living, and his life was over. As he waited for the end, all he had for company were regrets.