The nominee’s expression was serious, even grave. “As I’m sure most of you have heard,” he began, “I recently discarded the speech I’d planned to deliver tonight. In it, I talked about many of the challenges facing our nation, and why I am the man to confront them.”
He looked around the hall. “All of it is still true. But just in the past few days, I’ve learned about a situation—a crisis of monumental proportions—that demands my immediate attention, and yours. A crisis that my opponent has known about far longer than I have, but has chosen to ignore. That is what I must talk about tonight.”
The camera panned the confused, apprehensive crowd before returning to Harrison. “My fellow Americans,” he said, “I am with you tonight to tell you that our great nation is under attack.”
A frightened murmur from the crowd.
“More than an attack,” Harrison said. “An act of terrorism.”
So that’s his angle, Trey thought.
“Give me a goddamn fucking break,” Jack said.
“We are a strong nation,” Harrison went on. “We’ve faced terrorism on our shores before, and we’ve overcome it. We’ve triumphed because we’ve stood together, proud, strong, united. That’s who we are as a people. Nothing can bring us to our knees.”
He gazed into the camera. Now he looked angry. Righteously angry.
“Nothing can bring us to our knees,” he said again, “except an administration that hides a grave threat to our lives, our freedom, merely so it can win an election.”
Though the cameras stayed on Harrison’s stern face, Trey could hear sounds of dismay from the audience.
“The lives of your neighbors, your coworkers, your parents, your children, are in peril. Too many have died already—and how many more will die before Election Day?”
“Careful, asshole,” Jack murmured, “or you’ll have them fleeing the hall.”
“How many thousands will die?” Harrison said, his expression now one of controlled rage. “Ask the president. Ask the president—and then ask why he is covering up this crisis, this invasion, this terrorist act.”
Harrison’s voice rose. “Or don’t. Don’t ask. All you’ll hear is what I heard when I contacted him, offering to do everything I could to help confront this new enemy. All you’ll hear are lies and obfuscations and denials. Because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have any idea.”
An accusatory finger. “Instead, our president is trading the lives of American people for votes.” His eyes looked into the camera, into the eyes of the American people. “Hoping to keep the news of this invasion out of the newspapers until after he has been reelected.”
Harrison’s face was red. “I’m sure my opponent and his staff are scrambling for a response as I speak. Well, let me tell you what they’re going to say. They’ll tell you I’ve gone off the deep end. They’ll say I’m desperate, making it all up, lying. They’ll tell you not to believe a word I say.”
He took a breath. “And, you know, I can understand that. Why should you believe me? I am, after all, a politician, and though I’ve been an honest one throughout my career, I certainly wouldn’t blame you for being skeptical. We folks don’t exactly have the most sterling reputation, and a lot of that reputation is deserved.”
A slight ripple of uneasy laughter from the unseen audience.
“But if you won’t believe me,” Harrison said, “will you believe Enrique Montero?”
The cameras focused on a young man in the front row of the balcony. He had an oval face, dark eyes with circles under them, and straight black hair. He looked very nervous, glancing back and forth at the older woman and man who flanked him—his parents, Trey assumed.
“In many ways, until recently Enrique lived the American dream. The son of legal immigrants who, through determination and hard work, were able to open their own grocery store in Chico, California. While his older brother, Gonzalo, worked at the store, Enrique attended college . . . until two months ago.”
The camera came back to Harrison’s face. “Two months ago, Gonzalo was killed. And you know who was arrested for murder? Who spent weeks in jail before being released? Yes, Enrique. Yet he was innocent—he is innocent. The real culprit? The invader, the terrorist. The threat the president doesn’t believe we deserve to know about. But we do. Enrique and his parents do.”
The camera went back to the family’s faces. They were crying.
“Jesus Christ,” Jack said. “Why don’t you pick their bones while you’re at it?”
Now the camera focused on a pretty young woman with sandy blond hair. She looked angry.
“This is Elizabeth Keaton,” Harrison said. “Six weeks ago, she was a newlywed, married just eight months to her high school sweetheart, James. They’d just bought their first house together, in Davenport, Iowa. They were planning on having four children—four, at least.”
On camera, Elizabeth Keaton glanced at someone to her left and nodded. Then she faced forward again, and now her eyes were red.
“Then James disappeared. You know what the authorities told Elizabeth? That he’d probably run away with another woman!”
Harrison’s face filled the screen. “I am not blaming the Davenport police. They are good at what they do, and we should all be proud of them and grateful for their service. It’s not their fault that they weren’t given the information they needed—information that might have saved James’s life, or at the very least brought an end to Elizabeth’s uncertainty. For, yes, James, too, was a victim of these terrorists. Tragically, his life, too, came to an end—and with it, Elizabeth’s dreams.”
Harrison lifted a hand. “I’ll give you just one last example, although I could share a dozen more if I wanted to. No, just one more, to show you how this is a tragedy, a threat, that spans generations.”
Sheila made a sound in her throat.
And there were Kait and Mary on-screen. Kait, her thick black hair held back by a headband, wore a blue dress with a big belt around the waist. Her dark eyes stared out from a face that was ghostly pale under the freckles.
In her own simple red dress, Mary, her white hair standing out in the crowd, looked just as resolute. Together, grandmother and granddaughter cast an indelible image, as they’d been intended to.
To Mary’s left sat a long-jawed, blue-eyed, blond-haired woman of about forty-five. Her face was perfectly made up, her hair was piled up on top of her head, and her diamond earrings and necklace sent little gleaming stars across the screen.
“Harrison’s wife,” Jack said. “Samantha.”
Two children, a boy and a girl, sat to Kait’s right. The boy was perhaps twelve and had the candidate’s olive complexion. The girl, maybe eight, was a small, blond replica of Samantha. As the camera focused on them, the girl took Kait’s hand in her own and squeezed it.
“On July twenty-third, Kait spent the morning with her father—and Mary’s son—Tim, on the dock behind their home on Marco Island, just as she’d done countless times before,” Anthony Harrison said. “Together they were watching a baby dolphin who had been born in their boat slip just a few days before—a sick little dolphin Kait hoped to save.
“But the dolphin died. It was killed.” Now Harrison’s voice rose and became accusatory once more. “A sad story, but not one I would be talking about right now . . . if the same killers hadn’t then visited Tim and Joanna Finneran’s house and murdered them as well.”
Cries from the crowd.
“Yes,” Harrison said. “These innocent young parents died without knowing the dangers they were facing. Why didn’t they know? Because our government, our president, didn’t tell them.”
His expression was ferocious. “Tim and Joanna Finneran, James Keaton, Gonzalo Montero—none of them had to die. But they did. Now the American people—the voters—you and I—need to know why.”
He rocked back a little behind
the lectern. “You’ve been very patient,” he said. “I know you’ve long been wondering what I’m talking about. Invaders, I say. Attackers. I can imagine you’re all thinking of soldiers in uniforms, of rebels, of people with bombs strapped to their bodies.
“But no. That’s not it. What’s been attacking us, killing Americans, leaving people like Enrique and Elizabeth and Kait alone in the world is . . . this.”
Trey was never sure whether people in the convention center saw the image on a theater screen or television monitors or somehow projected in 3-D into thin air, but what viewers at home saw was the face of a thief projected so suddenly and so large that even Trey jumped. Whatever the audience saw must have been just as dramatic, because loud gasps were mixed with shouts and muffled screams.
The camera focused on the crowd. Some were staring upward, some were averting their eyes, and many were crying.
On-screen, Harrison raised both hands in a quelling gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “hear me out. This is not a monster I’m describing, not some ancient beast out of Jurassic Park.” He held his right thumb and forefinger apart. “They are wasps, the biggest on earth, but still just this big. That’s big enough. Big enough to kill with a single sting.”
The screen showed the vicious-looking thief again, then went back to Harrison. “This wasp, this creature,” he said, “is hunting us. It wants to kill us. It will not be stopped by locked doors and shut windows. And if you kill one—well, more will come, and more, and more.”
He paused for a beat, then said, “And I haven’t even told you the worst part of this story.”
Jack groaned.
“The worst part—the part that we will never forgive the president for hiding from us—is that these creatures’ larvae, their young, are parasitic. They must grow inside mammal hosts to survive. Mammals . . . including humans.”
His voice rang out. “One grew inside the baby dolphin that poor Kait tried to save,” he said. “One grew inside Gonzalo, Enrique Montero’s brother. And one grew inside James, Elizabeth Keaton’s husband. Grew inside them, and killed them.”
The camera went back to the crowd, which looked shell-shocked.
“Yes,” Harrison said. “I am sorry, so sorry, to be the one giving you this news. It should have been the president. This is the president’s job, but he won’t do it. He’s too busy running for reelection.”
A breath before he delivered the next blow. “And if, tomorrow, one of these creatures begins to grow inside you, you know what he’ll do? He’ll hide, just as he always does.”
His fist struck the lectern. “But I won’t hide. As soon as I am finished here, my staff—including a team of brilliant scientists and doctors—will be providing detailed instructions on how best to stay safe in these dangerous times. Check our website for fact sheets, videos, and links to important information and advice. Keep watching the station you’re tuned to—after my speech, we’ll have experts on every network.
“Now and in the coming days, my staff and I will do everything we can to prepare you to face what scientists are calling the most serious crisis of our lifetimes. Perhaps the current administration does not think you are worth it, but I do.”
Again his voice grew quieter. “At the beginning of this speech, I spoke of terrorism. I spoke of invasion. Some of you may be thinking, ‘All right—he’s scared us. But this doesn’t sound like terrorism to me. It sounds more like an epidemic. Frightening, yes, but just bad luck. Nobody’s fault.’
“Yes, that’s how it sounds . . . but it’s not how it is. Until recently, no one had ever heard of these creatures—not even the nation’s leading scientists. But now the wasps are here. Here, in America, killing our citizens. Where did they come from? How did they get here?”
He leaned forward. “I believe they were sent by our enemies. By those who envy our freedoms, who hate us for our democracy. I believe—I know—these creatures were created and hatched in a laboratory and sent here, just as surely as anthrax spores, a dirty bomb, or any other bioweapon would be. And with the same goal: To terrify us. To destroy us.”
“Brilliant,” Sheila said.
Her eyes were wide.
“This is terrorism,” Harrison said. “Pure and simple. Who is behind it? We don’t know yet. But we will find out.” His eyes were fierce. “Elect me, and I guarantee I will find out. Find out who has targeted us, and if we have to scour the earth we will make sure they pay. Just as we will make sure that every last one of these creatures has been driven from every corner of our great country.”
Trey felt something stir deep inside him. An awakening.
“When Election Day comes, and you’re deciding how to cast your vote, remember that you face a stark choice,” Harrison said. “My opponent, the man who is willingly putting your lives at risk, or me: the one who promises—who swears—to clean up the mess President Chapman has left behind and restore our great nation to the strength and honor it has always proudly held.
“Thank you. And may God bless America and protect us in the trials to come.”
THIRTY-SIX
THE DELUGE.
They kept the television on for most of the night. Jack sat on the sofa and wielded the remote, flicking back and forth among the networks and cable news stations. Sheila had taken over the apartment’s one comfortable chair, while Trey, unable to stay still, sat at the kitchen table or on the edge of the sofa, but spent most of his time leaning against various walls.
They watched pundits and commentators and party members spin the political implications of Harrison’s speech, as if this were the story of the night, not the threat itself, not the deaths. Scientists—whoever the shows had found willing to pontificate in the middle of the night—offered their learned opinions. Bloggers who had posted videos of the thieves blinked in the harsh light of the movie cameras. Conspiracy theorists weighed in. Instant polls measured the consequences.
And driving it all was the Harrison campaign’s carefully planned publicity blitz. Compelling, sober, terrifying spokespeople were everywhere, on every channel, all reinforcing the same message: This is serious. This is scary. The president has dropped the ball. Trust Anthony Harrison.
Having watched this routine a dozen times, Jack started to growl. “Next they’re gonna start sending people door to door,” he said, “and I’m gonna slug the first one who rings the bell.”
Hospitals and police stations reported being flooded with calls and visits. Hordes of people thinking they’d been stung. Further hordes fearing they were now hosting larvae. False alarm after false alarm.
“Therapists all over the world are thanking Harrison and making down payments on their dream homes,” Jack said.
“Hush.” Sheila ran her hand through her hair, which had grown out from its pixie cut. “You know what’s interesting,” she went on. “They all keep going over the same list of attacks, but nobody’s managed to come up with any fresh footage of the thieves, or even of someone who’s been infected.”
“Huh,” Jack said. “Well, it hasn’t been very long. We’ll start hearing shit soon enough.”
“I don’t think so.”
It had been a long time since Trey had spoken. Jack and Sheila both turned to stare at him, as surprised as if a chair had decided to join the conversation.
“Don’t think so?” Jack asked. “Don’t think so what?”
“I don’t think we’ll be hearing of many attacks,” Trey said. “Not now.”
Sheila was watching him closely. “Why not, Trey? You think they’re hiding?”
Trey thought about it, then shook his head.
“Then what?”
“Waiting,” he said.
* * *
AT SOME POINT in the evening the president sent his press secretary, a rumpled-looking man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, out to meet a crowd of reporters. He stood befor
e a microphone in front of a cluster of cameras and tried to convey outrage.
“He looks terrified,” Sheila commented. “I think the first he heard of this was tonight.”
“No,” Trey said. “He’s terrified because he did know—they all did. But they weren’t prepared for the secret to leak.”
Sheila’s eyes were on him. “How do you see that?”
Trey shrugged. How did he understand anything he saw? Tone of voice, posture, stresses, intonations, expressions in the eyes.
He just did.
“With his reckless, irresponsible speech, Governor Harrison has proven himself unfit for public office,” the press secretary declaimed. “He is using family tragedies for personal benefit, something President Chapman—or any person with an ounce of morality—would never do.”
Reporters shouted questions. The press secretary said, “Our hearts go out to those who have lost family members and friends, just as we express sorrow over those who die too soon from so many other maladies. We take this new threat very seriously and are utilizing all resources at our disposal, including the Centers for Disease Control and, if necessary, the military, to repel it.”
Then, to a cacophony of shouts, he turned and walked away.
“Not enough,” Sheila said.
Jack shook his head. “Not close.”
Trey felt something move inside him, somewhere near his core.
And stayed quiet.
* * *
TWO IN THE morning. “It’s weird,” Jack said.
“What is?” Sheila asked.
“I feel ripped off.” He gave a little smile. “I mean, for a while there, this was all . . . ours. We were, like, the only ones who knew. And now, just like that, we’re not.”
Sheila looked at him. “I wish it had never been mine.”
His mouth twisted. “Yeah. And I’m sorry. But you know what I mean.” He opened his arms. “As long as it was just us, there was a chance it wouldn’t all blow up and go to shit. Now—no.”
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