Next to Sean, at the foot of Michael and Alice's bed, lay Gresson. He was hardly tired and simply thought to himself about the others in the room.
They had surprised him. They were more self-reliant than he had expected. Far more mentally prepared for this apparent apocalypse. He had planned to be herding them like sheep. Yet they seemed to have a strength of their own. A strength they might need if they wished to survive.
Perhaps keeping them safe is the right thing to do, he thought. Killing them cannot be the solution.
Chapter 8
Trenton - August 5, 2072
The next morning, the sun shined brightly through the window of the hotel room. No one was too anxious to wake up, but Gresson forced himself to begin packing his things. The light allowed him to see much more of the room than had been possible the night before. A few burnt out lights and a destroyed entertainment display were the only things out of place in an otherwise typical hotel room.
Everyone else eventually followed his example and prepared for the day. They took turns using the bathroom, using lighters to see. There was no running water, but having a relatively clean toilet, even a non-working one, would soon become a novelty.
Once everyone was ready, the group left the hotel and ventured back onto the New Jersey Turnpike. Sean handed Gresson a map and said, "I picked this up in the hotel lobby. Figure it can't hurt."
Gresson appeared mildly appreciative. A paper map was an uncommon find these days. He gave it a look, then said, "We should make it past Cherry Hill by tonight."
The highway was much busier today. Crowds of people were walking in all directions, many moving without any sense of urgency or purpose as they weaved among the abandoned cars. Throughout the day, it only became more crowded on the road, with many of the travelers coming from nearby Philadelphia. By noon, the group was moving slowly to match the pace of those surrounding them.
Frustrated, Gresson led them off the road for lunch. They sat on a grassy area and got out the food from their packs.
As they began to eat, Sean asked Gresson, "So what's your story? We've been traveling with you for two days now. I think we deserve a few answers, right?"
Gresson sighed, ran his hand through his black hair, and said, "Alright. But I still cannot answer everything you ask."
"Why?" Alice asked.
"There... are rules. And until it is decided otherwise, I will not break them."
"Rules? Who the hell is giving the President of the United States rules?" Sean asked incredulously. Before Gresson could answer, Sean said, "Wait. Are you a double? Or are you actually Alexander Gresson? The former President? The President who was shot and killed two years ago?"
Gresson nodded and replied, "That is me, but obviously I was not killed."
"How did you survive that? Were you really ever shot?" Michael asked.
"I was shot. And I survived. I simply chose not to return afterwards."
Michael gave a perplexed look and said, "'Chose not to return'? What the hell does that mean?"
Gresson replied matter-of-factly, "It means exactly what it sounds like. The group I am with, the group that makes these 'rules,' no longer needed me as president. So the assassination served as a convenient way for me to leave office. It was not part of our plan, but..."
"Wait, wait, wait. What is this group? The Illuminati or something?" Sean asked.
Shaking his head, Gresson said, "I assure you, this group does not exist in any of your history or folklore. We exist for the sole reason of protecting humanity from the events that began two days ago. I cannot say anything more."
"Are we going to meet them?" Alice asked.
Michael anxiously interrupted, "Hold on, you said the 'events that began.' What do you mean by that? What's going to happen next?"
"I do not know. What I do know is that things could get much worse unless my people possess Project Blackout."
"But you knew exactly when everything would start. How could you not know what's coming next? I mean, you told me the time, right to the minute!" Sean exclaimed.
"Yes, but that's all I knew. Everything from that point on is uncertain."
The group ate silently for the next few minutes. When they had finished, they made their way back to the highway. It was upon returning that a few on the highway recognized Gresson.
"Hey, you look a hell of a lot like President Gresson," one man commented. This drew the attention of others, who either gasped or remarked in agreement.
"I am President Gresson. My death was... exaggerated," Gresson kindly replied. The group was surprised by his honesty, and his sudden diplomatic tone. "My friends and I need to reach our destination as quickly as possible. Would you all be so kind as to let us move though?"
"Of course!" one man yelled, and others around him began to make a hole in the crowd.
The group was now able to pick up their pace, walking through the crowd which now clapped, cheered, cried out "It's President Gresson!", and asked a plethora of questions about what was going on. In response to one question of "What should we do?", Gresson urged them to head south.
For the next few miles, Gresson was in full presidential stride. This almost disturbed Sean and the Cases, who had grown used to his indifference and aggression. Their leader seemed a different man entirely. Gresson repeatedly raised a hand to the crowd, gave short messages of hope, and even shook a few hands. The turnpike had become a rally for the once-thought-dead former president.
By the time the group arrived at Cherry Hill, New Jersey, the highway had become packed with people either attempting to travel or to see the messianic figure that Gresson had become in the course of one hour. The only people moving much at all were Gresson and his 5 followers. The sun was setting and once the six of them saw a ramp, they made their way off the packed highway. Many followed.
There was a park not far from the highway where the group eventually arrived. The huge crowd surrounding them pleaded for Gresson to say something. Gresson told the crowd he would speak soon as he brought the group to a halt.
"There's little point in seeking shelter tonight," Gresson said as he looked up at the cloudless night sky. With no artificial light cluttering the sky, it was filled with bright stars, beautifully vivid for everyone gathered in the park.
The group prepared a fire, as did many others across the park. One giant bonfire was starting near the middle of the crowd of hundreds. Chants all around began to call for a speech, enthralled in the moment. The perceived impossibility of Gresson's return from the dead was overshadowed by the people's desperation for hope.
Gresson told Sean and the Cases he would return and he made his way to the bonfire. Cheers erupted from all directions. With his back against the flames, Gresson paced around the fire to address everyone in the park with his booming voice.
"My fellow Americans!" he began. Applause and cheers bellowed from the audience. Many curious wanderers continued to flood the park. Once the ovation died down, Gresson continued.
"I know many of you are wondering how it is that I am among you tonight. While I cannot give you much of an answer right now, I can say that I am certainly alive and well, and doing everything I can to aid you all in these dark times." Thunderous cheers drowned out the few boos of those more anxious for answers than rhetoric.
"Our nation has been brought to its knees. The technology that has built us up to the pinnacle of our evolution has been torn from under us. Cities are burning, society is collapsing, and people are lost. But, I urge you, do not give up hope! For whatever is burnt can be replaced. Whatever is collapsed can be rebuilt. And whatever is lost, is destined to be found again!" Gresson paused as cheers rose up.
"Many things may be gone today, but there is one thing far more important that is still with us. It is what makes us who we are. Not just as workers and employers... fathers and mothers... sons and daughters... friends and strangers! Not even what makes us Americans! It is what makes us human beings! It is our human spirit that will see us
through tonight and every night after that!" Another pause for cheers. The inspired crowd now clustered around the bonfire.
"Now more than ever we must recognize this human spirit. We must come together as one. Only then will we survive. And we must survive!" Gresson continued as cheers and shouts grew all around him. "We must survive, not just for ourselves, but for our families, for our friends, for our nation, and for... our... species!" The sounds of those in the park could now be heard for miles.
Gresson had worked up a furious pace around the bonfire. For his final line, he planted his feet, raised a fist into the air, and quoted a slogan from his presidential campaign. "'For the future is now our's for the taking!' Goodnight!" Few beyond the closest to him could hear his final words over the crowd, but as he left the bonfire, it became clear that his short speech was over. Applause joined in with the deafening cheers.
Gresson shuddered as he retreated through the crowd. He had almost forgotten the rush of campaigning. It was the euphoria that was felt when hundreds or even thousands of people clung to one's every word. Throughout his campaigning and short term as president, he had countlessly faced huge congregations of citizens desperate to receive his message. It was the kind of power that could easily corrupt and make a person forget everything else. But Gresson had not forgotten anything. In truth, the blind devotion his speeches could trigger was disgusting to him. The idea that charisma, not logic or reason, dictated the opinions and actions of those who heard disturbed him deeply. He had, a long time ago, seen first hand the extent to which that such power could control, and inevitably destroy. No, he had not forgotten. Even tonight, surrounded by adoring fans, he was firmly incapable of forgetting his true purpose.
Gresson made his way back to his group, shaking hands and waving to the crowd on the way. The iconic smile plastered on his face was identical to the one that had been featured on countless ads four years ago. The dark eventually hindered most from recognizing him and he arrived back at the small fire Sean and the Cases had started. The cheers died down, only to be replaced with endless chants and even a few musical instruments on the far side of the park.
"So I guess you really are President Gresson," Michael remarked as Gresson sat down.
"I guess I am," he replied.
"Looks like someone has a crack in the armor. What happened to our cold, stoic leader?" Alice asked.
"We needed to get through the crowd. Acting presidential was the quickest way," Gresson replied.
"And the message of hope helped us how?" Michael said with a grin. He hoped some noble side of Gresson was beginning to manifest.
Yet Gresson had turned back into the cold, stoic leader as he ignored the question and said, "Everyone get comfortable. We'll sleep here tonight and leave early in the morning."
The crowd surrounding the group was still in a state of loud celebration, though the cheers had declined.
Sean shook his head and said, "I don't think we'll be getting much sleep."
"Try," Gresson said as he laid down on his sleeping bag. The others begrudgingly followed suit. They placed their packs within the bottom of the sleeping bags to prevent any potential theft and slept close to each other and the fire to keep warm. Within an hour, most of the crowd had left the park. The only cheers erupted from further downtown as a liquor store was discovered and promptly raided, starting a brand new party. Many of those remaining slept around the scattered fires. While the park never became very quiet, it was enough for everyone to get some rest.
Chapter 9
Cherry Hill - August 6, 2072
Gresson awoke before the sun had risen, but the dark of night was already fading. He stood up and rubbed his eyes. After shaking the others awake, he said softly, "Alright, time to go."
Within a few minutes, everyone was packed and ready to move. The group began to head toward the highway.
Before they could reach the on-way ramp, a woman wielding a shotgun appeared, blocking their path. She had dark skin, tight black clothes, and a prominent red tattoo covering the left side of her face. The tattoo involved two thick lines above and below her left eye, and a third line running diagonally across her left cheek. Her gray eyes stared intently at the group's leader.
Gresson slowly drew his gun out of his coat and held it at his side. The group began to walk slower as they approached.
The woman spoke with a sharp voice, "You are President Gresson."
"And you are in my way," Gresson replied, his grip on his gun tightening.
The stern look on her face did not change, and she still held her shotgun, but the woman raised her free hand in surrender. "I'm not here to stop you. I want to join you."
"Join us?" Gresson asked cautiously. His eyes scanned around, looked for anyone else who might be with the woman.
"Yes," she replied, her gaze unwavering. "I was at the park last night. I watched your speech. And I watched as you went back to these other people with you. People who look like they've never held a gun in their lives. You need someone who can protect you and I can do that."
Gresson had now stopped a few yards away from the woman. "I am more than capable of defending myself and the others with me. I appreciate the offer, but we must continue on. Without you." He began to lead the group around her. He pulled out his gun to underscore his point.
"Fine," she said, but they way she looked at them as she walked away made it clear she had not given up.
The group made it back onto the highway and headed south.
"That was scary as hell," Sean said.
"I appreciate that you didn't attempt to pick up another rescue, Michael," Gresson said.
"Thanks?" Sean sarcastically complained.
"Sean seems a bit more stable than whoever that was. Besides, she looks like she can handle herself anyway," Michael said.
"Once again, thanks?" Sean said, this time raising his hands in protest. As he said this, he tripped on a crack in the asphalt and struggled for a second to balance his own weight and the weight of the pack on his back.
Alice gave him a look. "Yeah, yeah," Sean submitted.
The group continued to follow the highway south. As the day progressed, the number of passersby increased, though the road remained far less populated than the day before, now that they were past the Philadelphia area traffic.
The early start and quick pace allowed them to arrive at the Delaware River in the mid-afternoon. The group's walk across one of the Delaware Memorial Bridges came to a stop as they stared with dispair at the wreckage that laid ahead. In the center of the bridge lay the remains of a crashed airplane. Debris littered the bridge and the water below. Though the bridge was still intact, the scorched impact site was uninviting. There was no fire, but smoke still rose into the air.
"Alright. Let's get a closer look. It could still be passable," Gresson said.
As the group approached the wreckage, they encountered a stench of burnt metal and flesh. They began to get a clearer image of the crash and realized the bridge was far less intact than it had originally appeared. The support wires of the bridge were either mangled or detached and the road appeared uneven.
Coming closer, they saw why. There was a gap in the road, several feet wide. The section of the bridge they were walking on had lost most support and lowered nearly a meter compared to the side across the gap in front of them. Lying caught within the area of missing bridge lay a burnt out piece of the airplane's hull. The stench was worse here. Lying on the road was at least one charred human figure.
"Oh god!" Alice cried. Sean, on the verge of puking, hung his head over the edge of the bridge. Marie had turned around and covered her eyes. Michael and Adam were pale and held their noses. Gresson, however, seemed undisturbed as he scanned the area for a way to cross, though he was certain they would need to go back and use the bridge that ran parallel to this one.
A whimper came from the wreckage ahead.
"There's someone alive in there!" Adam yelled. He, Michael, and Gresson dropped their
bags and cautiously walked toward the noise. Alice ran over and grabbed Adam.
"Stay back," she said.
"Mom, I..." Adam started.
"Adam, it's alright. Just hang on and let us check it out," Michael said. Adam groaned in protest, but resigned to comfort his distraught sister.
As Michael and Gresson neared the hull of the airplane, they heard someone moan, "Over here. Please." The voice came from behind a blackened hunk of metal that had once been a car. Caught between that and the hull of the airplane lay an ash covered man. His right leg was trapped between the road and the hull. The two men ran over.
"Are you alright?" Michael asked.
"Ju... just great, you moron," the man snapped. He coughed, then said, "I'm sorry. Please, just get me out of here. I've been stuck like this for days."
Gresson called for water. Adam ran over with some and put it to the man's lips. As he drank, Michael incredulously asked, "Were you on the plane?"
The man shook his head. "I had just... just driven onto the bridge when all the cars stopped working. Me and a couple... *cough*... couple others were tryin' to figure out what the hell happened when this plane just dropped right out of the sky. Just dropped. Like they were trying to... *cough*... to perch right on the goddamn bridge at a thousand miles an hour. Then boom! ... *cough* *cough*... The explosion shook the bridge so bad I thought for sure it was going down." The man nodded at the water bottle, which Adam let him drink from.
The man continued, "So me and some other guys ran over here, but the fire was too much. We waited a few hours and it died down enough for us to check for survivors. Shoulda known no one could survive that." He pointed over at the mangled bridge wires. "The hull was originally against that, but as we started poking around, it fell. The others either ran or fell into the water. Lucky me, I got pinned. Crushed my leg then burnt it... *cough*... to a goddamn crisp. And..." The man suddenly had a coughing fit. When he recovered, he said, "You mind if we have story-time later?"
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