The chief of staff glanced down at his clipboard once again. “Ma’am, from what I understand there are not now, nor will there ever be, fallout considerations from the warheads that were exploded over the United States. The detonations took place too high to settle through the upper atmosphere. But ma’am, you’ve got to remember, we are treading on virgin ground here. I’m not convinced anyone really understands—”
“I’m leaving Raven Rock first thing in the morning then. I won’t hide down here any longer. We’ll stay away from D.C. for the moment—heaven knows there’s nothing there to go home to anyway, not with the White House and Congressional complex and office buildings completely destroyed. We’ll move the nation’s capital to where, Tom? I don’t care. You and the staff pick a place. Richmond might be as good a spot as any; we’d be close enough to the remains of the government in D.C. that we could have access to whatever we have left. But if you want to go to New York or Philadelphia, I’m OK with that, too. Either way, I won’t stay down here any longer. I want to be up there and see for myself what’s going on. I want to be up there with my people. I want them to see me and hear me and know that something, someone is still there, that the government hasn’t completely folded and we are going to move on.”
The chief of staff dropped his clipboard to his side, his face concerned. “I’ll check it through the Secret Service. They’ll have to clear it first.”
“Fine. Talk to them. Get it cleared. But tell them I will not take no for an answer. I’m not going to hole up here in Raven Rock forever. Three days have passed now since the EMP attack. I want to get up there and it’s critical that I do.”
More scribbling on the clipboard, the chief of staff’s brow creasing as he wrote.
“And I want to address the nation as soon as possible,” the president said. “Have the Emergency Communications Center set it up. I want to stand before our people and assure them that we are still here.”
The chief of staff looked around, almost laughing with sarcasm, but managed to hold it back. We are here! Yeah, there was a little truth in that, but it was pretty hard to sugarcoat the fact that the government had pretty much been destroyed. The nation was about to hear from their new president, a woman ninety-five percent of them didn’t know and fewer of them could have even identified. And what was she going to tell them? Hope you all got some food and water stuffed away because it’s looking pretty grim.
Hard to be optimistic when things had already crashed down on their heads.
Still, he kept his face straight, holding the sarcasm in. “I’ll talk to the communications coordinator,” was all he said.
“How many stations—what kind of coverage across the nation can we get?”
“I’m not sure, Madame President. I would think, based on the afternoon briefing, we can cover almost everywhere. A few remote pockets out west might be out of range, but it’s my understanding you’ll have pretty much coast-to-coast coverage, at least on the AM frequencies. The larger consideration is, how many people have access to working radios? Not too many, I am thinking, and even fewer will have working television sets. We’re going to have to provide them. It’s going to take some time.”
The president nodded, then rubbed her eyes again. The chief of staff waited, his own knees feeling weak.
Through the silence, he reflected on the highly classified report sitting in the secure safe back in his office. The National Intelligence Brief was short and terrifyingly clear. And it was hot. Boiling hot. He felt his safe would explode. The picture it painted of the country was as depressing as anything he’d ever seen. Many Americans had not eaten since the day of the attack. Most of them didn’t have any drinking water. Perhaps half a million had died already from lack of emergency medical care. And the devastation was just beginning. It was going to go downhill. The United States didn’t have a stockpile of food, not nearly enough to feed them all, and no way to distribute it anyway. They didn’t have medical supplies, not to speak of, beyond the few days of inventory stockpiled on pharmacy and hospital shelves. They had no electricity, no sanitation or clean water; the list was so long and overwhelming it was crushing even to think about.
Worst of all, of the three hundred some-odd million Americans, two hundred and ninety-seven million of them were completely unprepared, expecting the government to take care of them. Not a highly accurate expectation, it turned out.
He cleared his throat and looked around, thinking of the president’s request to get out of Raven Rock. Yes, they might be able to leave the underground command post for a few days, a few weeks even, but they wouldn’t be aboveground for long. Conditions on the surface were deteriorating so quickly, they would soon be driven back to the safety of the secret command post. Within a few weeks, mass starvation was going to sweep across the nation. There would be food riots and chaos unlike anything ever seen before. Once that started—and his estimate of it being a few weeks away might be an overly optimistic one—they would need the security of Raven Rock once again, the food supplies, clean water and medications, everything the underground complex could provide.
It killed him to have to face it, but the truth was, they would end up back inside Raven Rock.
He looked around at the heavily paneled walls, thinking of the cold stone and thick cement that surrounded him two hundred feet beneath the surface. Putting the image aside, he turned to the president. “We’ll set up the broadcast to the nation as soon as possible, but I have to ask you, Madame President, what are you going to say? What will you tell the people? How can you give them any hope?”
The former Californian senator closed her eyes and thought, almost wincing at the weight of the pressure on her shoulders. What can I tell them? she wondered to herself. What can I tell them that they don’t already know? They’re not stupid; I can’t fool them. But I can’t just give up and lead them down a road of death and despair.
She considered a moment, exhausted, her leg in real pain. Breathing slowly, she almost micro-slept before the sound of the chief of staff’s body movements brought her back to the room. She opened her eyes and looked around, then turned to him. “All I can do is tell them the truth. It is ugly now. It will get worse. But we have to keep our faith and go on. Most of all, I want to remind them that we are not alone. God has guided our nation in the past and He will guide us even now. This greatest of all nations is still His magnificent cause, and the only thing we can do now is put our faith and trust in Him.”
The chief of staff stared, his mouth open. It wasn’t what he expected, not from a woman who, outside of weddings and funerals, hadn’t been inside a church in many years. Funny, he thought, how the situation had a tendency to refocus one’s heart. Still, he understood it. Truth was, he was feeling a bit religious himself.
“I will tell them that help is on the way,” the president continued. “We have allies and friends across the globe. None of them were affected by the EMP attack. They will stand by us now as we stood by them in the past.”
No, the chief of staff wanted to counter, we are friendless and alone and we must recognize that now. But he held his tongue, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“We have indescribable challenges,” the president concluded. “We all know that. But we’ll work together. We’ll stand together. And yes, we will rise again.” She hesitated, thinking. “The one thing I won’t do,” she concluded, nodding toward a red binder on her desk, “is shred the Constitution as we begin to rebuild.”
*******
The president slept inside a small apartment off the main command post. Twenty minutes later, as she lay atop her bed, her eyes closed, the stillness of the night around her, she was amazed at the almost perfect silence. Rock walls. Cement floors. Thick, blast-proof steel doors. All of it combined to stifle every sound and vibration, leaving the air unnaturally soundless and dull.
The night passed and, though she was exhausted, sleep was slow to come. Too many thoughts. Too many worries. Her chest was tight and every time sh
e thought about the next day her heart raced again. Rolling to her back, she breathed deeply and, starting with her lower body, stretched her muscles to relax. Her toes. Her feet. Her legs. Her abdomen and arms. Everything was limp and soft now . . . her breathing was growing heavy . . . the tightness in her chest was gone . . . she was falling into darkness as she drifted off to sleep.
A final thought ran through her mind just before she fell asleep: Her husband and son were still out in Sacramento. She’d already made arrangements to send out a military jet. Soon they would be with her. Things would be a little better then.
With that thought, the president smiled lightly, then drifted off to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, she was dead.
*******
The potassium chloride had been administered in the herbal tea she had swallowed just before slipping into bed. As expected, it was a perfect assassination, leaving no trace of foul play behind.
Because potassium and chloride are naturally found within the human body, the forensic pathologist had no evidence that an assassination had taken place. Later, during the autopsy, when examining the dead woman’s heart, the pathologist noted all the classical indications of a massive heart attack: discoloration and swelling in the aorta, pockets of clear liquid throughout one chamber. His notes were textbook clear: Unstable angina. Fatal outcome. Dynamic coronary thrombosis leading to infarction and sudden death. Possible peripheral embolization culminating in total vascular occlusion.
The only other medical discovery of any significance was the slightly elevated calcium chloride levels within the blood—hardly interesting and certainly not suspicious.
Ventricular fibrillation leading to heart failure was the final conclusion of the forensic pathologist.
*******
Upon being told of the president’s sudden death, the National Security Advisor turned away and sadly shook his head. “It was simply too much for her,” he whispered to the general who had brought him the shocking news. “Truth is, the burden of the presidency might be too much to ask of anyone right now.”
EIGHT
East Side, Chicago, Illinois
They helped Luke up the bare cement stairway. Ammon held his brother’s weight, his right arm around his waist, Sara on the other side. Luke was getting heavier as they climbed. Sam felt a mushy wetness against his hand and knew the dressing on Luke’s back was saturated. His brother was growing weak now, but they all were. They were all exhausted, barely hanging by a thread, the last couple of days, the last week, the last month stripping them bare of any emotional reserves, leaving them physically and mentally worn down to the bone. As they worked their way up to Mary’s apartment, Sam sucked a shallow breath. The stairwell stank, graffiti covered most of the walls, and just a hint of light bled in from the small, wire-mesh windows on each landing. Rounding the second corner, Sam heard a woman gasp and looked up. Mary Dupree was waiting for them on the third floor, Azadeh at her side.
Mary stared, her mouth open, her dark eyes wide in disbelief. Stepping down, she glanced at Azadeh, then ran down the flight of stairs. Nudging Sara aside, she draped Luke’s arm across her own shoulders. Azadeh followed, her face clouded with concern. Reaching out to Sam, she spoke in Farsi, but he didn’t catch her hurried words and didn’t understand.
Mary moved carefully, matching Luke’s slow steps. “Why isn’t he in the hospital?” she whispered to Sara as they climbed.
Sara patted her arm reassuringly. “It’s OK,” she said.
“They should have kept him in the hospital!” Mary’s voice was angry.
“It’s OK. Don’t be upset. We’ll explain everything.”
Something in Sara’s words settled Mary down and she turned her attention now to Luke. “Come on, baby!” she said as she helped him up the last flight of stairs, whispering encouragingly in his ear, like a mother to a child. “Almost there, baby. You can do it. Almost there.” Her voice was soft, her accent musical.
Luke turned to her and smiled weakly. “I’m not dying here, Miss Dupree. You know that, right?”
“Shhh, child. You save your strength now. Mary’s going to take care of you.”
Sara listened, a weak smile crossing her weary face. So good. So strong. Mary was her family now.
*******
They sat around the small kitchen table: Mary holding Kelly Beth, who was asleep now in her arms; Sara next to her, her hands resting on the table; Azadeh against the back wall, her eyes moving constantly, unsure of her status among the group; Ammon in the last chair, leaning heavily upon the table. Sam was sitting on the counter. Luke was in the back bedroom. He had a bit of fever but was sleeping now.
Ammon looked at all the others. “It’s amazing,” was all he said.
They sat in silence, thinking, wondering, trying to put the miracles they had witnessed into perspective. Mary held her little girl ever tighter, rocking her in her arms, holding her as if she’d never let her go. “It’s not amazing,” she countered, resting her chin on Kelly Beth’s head. The child’s eyes remained closed. “It’s the hand of God, Ammon. Pure and true. The hand of God, just like in the Holy Book. The Virgin Birth. The rise of Lazarus. The healing of the Leper. Mercy of the Father.” She choked, her voice falling as she glanced down at the floor, then lifted her eyes up to Sara. “These sons of yours. Angels. Prayers. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand it at all. I don’t know how it happened. All I know is what I know. My little girl was dying, dying right before my very eyes. I’ve watched others passing; I know what happens to them just before they slip away. They lose interest in the world, folding into themselves. They become smaller, shallow, the darkness drawing near. That was happening to my baby. She was just a day away . . . .” Her voice trailed off again and she swallowed hard. “I had taken on her suffering as if it were my own. Her pain was my pain, her suffering was my suffering, her despair my own. How many nights had I begged Him for my daughter? Lord, I believe. Forgive me for my weakness. Help my lack of faith. Lord, will you have mercy? Will you help my little girl? Help us, Lord, I begged him.” She glanced again at Sam, who had said a prayer for Kelly Beth, then shook her head. “I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that it’s true.”
No one spoke. A sweet, peaceful feeling settled over the room as the sounds from the crowded streets drifted through the window. Azadeh kept her head down, trying to understand. So many new words, so many new ideas. Still, she understood the general feeling and somehow she knew that what Mary said was true.
Sara reached across the table and took Mary’s hand. “You’re a good person, Mary, and God has heard your prayers.”
“I know lots of good people who don’t get answers to their prayers. At least that’s the way it seems. So why me? Why my daughter? I feel so unworthy.” Her lower lip trembled and her cheeks were stained with tears, but she didn’t look away or waver, staring into Sara’s eyes.
Sara tightened her grip on Mary’s hand. “No one can answer that, Mary. You’ll probably never know. But I do think that we were meant to be together. I think we were sent to find you, to help you and Kelly Beth. I think you were sent to help us, too.”
“Me? I can’t do anything for you.”
“You don’t know that, Mary. You don’t know what the future has in store.”
Mary’s face was clearly skeptical. Sara patted her hand a final time and sat back. “Everything that has happened has to have happened for a reason. Everything we’ve been through, it is all part of the plan.”
“The plan?” Mary wondered. “Do you really think God planned for this to happen?” She nodded to the small apartment window, indicating the death and chaos taking place down on the street. “Is all this really what He wanted?” She wasn’t doubting. She wasn’t faithless. She just really didn’t know.
Sara looked down at the table, her mind flooding with memories of her husband, the strength of his arms, the smell of his hair, his patience, his faith, his determination to do the right thing, rega
rdless of the cost. The life that he had chosen was full but as demanding as any she could imagine, hard and short. She thought of the endless nights she had waited for him to come home—days, weeks, months when he didn’t come home at all. And now she would have to wait for years. Such a long time. But she accepted that. It wasn’t over, and she knew that she would see him again, maybe before she was even ready. She sighed, then turned to Mary. “Everything that happens is a part of His plan. No matter what happens to us, to our children, to either you or me, there is a purpose and reason for it.”
Mary didn’t answer as she clung to her child.
Ammon looked up at his mother. “How’s Luke doing?” he asked.
Sara twirled her fingers nervously. She had wiped the blood away with a towel, but without any water she couldn’t wash them and they were tinted crimson now. “I don’t know. The wounds are deep, or at least they look deep to me. I changed the dressings. They bled awhile, but I don’t know if . . . .”
“They’re fine,” Sam broke in. He had examined Luke’s injuries as well. “Two small entry and exit wounds. Believe me, I’ve seen way worse. Like the doctor at the hospital said, they’ve perforated the skin and muscle and a little of the fat and tissue underneath, but they’re not into the organs, certainly not as deep as bone. He seems kind of weak, but frankly, we all are. I’m sure the wounds will heal nicely and it won’t take too long.”
Mary stared at Sara, her eyes still wide in wonder. “An entry wound . . . an exit wound . . . .”
No one said anything.
“My little girl here was dying . . . .”
A deep and sacred silence.
Mary looked up at the heavens and lifted both of her arms. “Thank you God,” she prayed.
*******
They had dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fill them: canned beans, Spam, a handful of crackers. They sipped the water carefully—it was the most precious thing they had, and they had much less of it than of food. After eating, Sam shot a wary eye toward the closet where they had hidden the three packs of supplies they had brought with them. Underneath the backpacks were two camel packs of water as well as a few other emergency items they had taken from the trunk before hiding the car in the stand of trees along the road. He thought of the other things left in the car: the gold coins, the rest of the food, the clothes, the sleeping bags, more emergency supplies. They had taken everything that they could carry with them, but they had also had to find a way to carry Luke, and so they hadn’t been able to bring as much as Sam would have liked.
Wolves in the Night: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Seven Page 6